


Tidings From Beaversdam

by WingedFlight



Category: Chronicles of Narnia - All Media Types, Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Background OCs abound, Edmund stays in narnia, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Northern Witches, Post-VDT, heirs and the matter of succession
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-06
Updated: 2020-09-06
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:15:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26317024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WingedFlight/pseuds/WingedFlight
Summary: Twins have been born to the heir of Narnia, and the kings travel to Beaversdam to celebrate.
Relationships: Caspian/Edmund Pevensie
Comments: 17
Kudos: 60
Collections: Narnia Fic Exchange 2020





	Tidings From Beaversdam

**Author's Note:**

  * For [queerlytired](https://archiveofourown.org/users/queerlytired/gifts).



The missive arrived mid-afternoon by way of courier pigeon all the way from Beaversdam. Officially, it had been wax-sealed with instructions to be delivered immediately to the kings; in reality, all of Paravel heard the tidings sung by the bird on her flight. 

_ Good news! Hurrah! Twins have been born to the heir of Narnia!  _

As a result, by the time the missive had been retrieved from the bird tower’s mailroom and run down by the fastest squirrel page to Edmund’s study, Caspian was already there. Both kings had already heard the birdsong and the gossip flying in its wake. All they had left to learn were the details. 

Caspian had broken out a celebratory whisky. He lounged on the couch, the top of his silk purple shirt unbuttoned. He looked more like a pirate than a king, a fact he well knew Edmund greatly appreciated. Casually, he took a sip as Edmund broke the wax seal and unrolled the parchment. 

“‘Greetings from your second cousin, the Lord Tasius of Beaversdam,’” Edmund read aloud. “‘It pleases me greatly to announce the birth of my twin children, Castor and Taswyn. Both are healthy and filled with life.’” He lowered the parchment. “Damn it all, you were right. He did name one of them after you. And neither after me.” 

“I really don’t know why you thought you’d win that bet,” retorted Caspian, “Tasius is heir through my family line, not yours. Besides, that younger generation’s got plenty of little Edmunds running around Narnia already.” 

This was true. And, to be fair, Edmund still wasn’t exactly comfortable with the idea of half his subjects naming their children after him. Humans, and Telmarine humans especially, placed great importance on the heritage of a name. He hadn’t had near so many namesakes back in the Golden Age when the Narnians were almost entirely non-human with entirely different naming conventions.

He scrunched up his nose at the thought, and then lifted his own glass. “To Castor and Taswyn.” 

“To Castor and Taswyn,” echoed Caspian. “And Tasius and Mirwyn. Long lives to them all.” 

They drank deeply. Caspian drained his glass entirely, set it on the edge of Edmund’s desk, and picked up the silver torch from its stand to play with. Edmund narrowed his eyes but did not scold him, even when the light blinked on; they’d long ago confirmed that the magic of Narnia had seeped into the device, powering the torch even after the batteries were removed.

“We can have fireworks tonight,” Caspian remembered. “And we’ll have to draft an official proclamation.” 

“Do you honestly think I haven’t prepared one already?” Edmund reached over his desk, pulled a parchment from the middle of a stack, and waved it in the air. “All I need to do is fill in the names.” He dutifully lay the parchment on the desk in front of him, dipped his quill in the inkpot, and filled in blanks. 

Caspian turned on the torch again and waggled the light in Edmund’s face, who scowled at him fondly. Setting aside the proclamation so the ink could dry, he leaned back in his chair to enjoy the remainder of his whisky. 

Caspian continued flicking the light on and off. “I suppose it would be bad form for us to go haring off across the country to see the newborns.” 

“As much as I would like to, I’m not sure Beaversdam will be in any state to receive visitors for several months.” Edmund tapped the feathered end of his quill to his chin, grabbed a scrap of parchment, and began jotting down notes. “When we do go, the journey will take a week. We’ll need to take a full retinue, I expect. No one ever really likes it when the two of us go haring off on adventures alone.” 

“It would take two days if we didn’t have to drag everyone else along,” grumbled Caspian. “But I suppose Trumpkin  _ would _ have another fit.” 

* * *

They departed the first week of autumn, a full retinue streaming from the city at dawn with great fanfare. Both the roads and skies were relatively clear, and the air smelled of changing leaves. The whole country was in good cheer, and well aware of the reason for their travels; every community called out their congratulations to the passing kings. 

“As if we had anything to do with it, besides originally naming Tasius to be our heir,” said Caspian under his breath at last. 

“It means more security for the throne, and therefore more security for Narnia,” answered Edmund, “of which you are well aware.” 

Clouds came on the fourth day of travel, and rain on the fifth. But the sun returned to shine upon the end of their journey, lighting up the Western Wood in gleaming reds and oranges. “This has always been my favourite time of year,” said Caspian as their horses paused to overlook the next valley. 

Edmund did not answer. His eyes were focused not on the trees nor the tall stone house nestled among them, but the bend in the river directly below. Caspian had seen this look before; he reached out to lay a comforting hand upon his husband’s arm. “What do you see?” 

Edmund’s sigh was faint. “We came to visit when the Beavers had their kits. I remember standing right here, looking down at them playing in the water. I watched them grow up and start families of their own.”

Caspian knew what he did not say: that if any descendants of the Beavers remained, they did not dwell in Narnia. 

“Sometimes,” said Edmund in a faint voice, “I wish I never came back.” He took a deep breath, collected himself, and looked up at his husband. “But never for long. There are a lot of good things in the world today.” 

“Like autumn road trips.” 

“And joyful Narnians.” 

“And newborn cousins.” 

“And you, I suppose,” said Edmund.

“Oh good. I was afraid I might not have made the list.” 

“Caspian,” said Edmund as he began guiding his horse down the sloping road into the valley, “You  _ are _ the list.” 

* * *

Lord Tasius of Beaversdam was a jovial man who’d always reminded Edmund of Golden Age Narnia’s neighbouring monarch. The resemblance was so strong, both in manner and looks, that he’d actually dug into family records at one point to search out a connection to Lune. Though he found nothing concrete, Tasius’s mother had hailed from Archenland and evidence suggested her own mother may have been related to Ram the Great. 

Sitting beneath a sycamore tree in the garden with Caspian, watching Tasius stroll back and forth along the path with a fussing twin in his arms, Edmund wondered what Cor and Aravis would think of their line. Proud, he hoped. As the Lady Mirwyn stepped from the house, Tasius’s face brightened with a tender love plain for all to see. Taswyn squirmed again; Mirwyn’s own expression warmed in a fond exasperation and she swooped forward, calling, “Tassia, Tassia, hush my child.” 

Taswyn was always restless and making noise, while Castor was a quiet and serious child. He lay in a peaceful sleep now in Edmund’s arms, oblivious to his sister’s nearby excitement. “You will forever be cleaning up your sister’s messes,” he told the boy, “But I can tell you now: sisters are worth it.” 

Caspian had been sorting through the daily correspondence, occasionally asking for Edmund’s input but often simply setting the letters in a stack for later. Hearing these words, he leaned into Edmund in a wordless comfort that said  _ Here I am. _

Edmund wanted to tell the boy,  _ Maybe you’ll meet my sisters one day. _ Instead, he shifted Castor a little and lay his own head on Caspian’s shoulder. The purple silk felt good against his cheek.

After a minute, he said, “You should wear this shirt every day.” 

“It would wear through if I did that.” 

“And then you’d be wearing no shirt at all.” Edmund thought for a moment. “Actually, I’d be okay with that.” 

“I know,” said Caspian. Their eyes met. And Edmund tilted his head up to meet Caspian’s gentle kiss.

* * *

Autumn deepened. Two full weeks drifted past, filled with warm and comfortable family activities and considerably more doting on the twins. At last, the daily correspondence included a letter announcing the upcoming arrival of the Galman trade delegation. 

“I was hoping they’d be late,” Edmund said, staring at the letter. But it was not to be. By the next day, he was on the road to Paravel. Caspian remained behind, as Edmund had insisted he take at least another week’s holiday with the rest of his family. 

Cair Paravel was in the same semi-organized uproar that always preceded the arrival of diplomatic visitors. Nothing about the castle was quiet, but it always felt a little bit lonelier when Caspian was not around. During the day, Edmund had no time to dwell on this; but that night, he sat alone by the fire in the royal chambers and imagined to himself that he was back in the Golden Age and all his siblings were merely out in this world on various missions and quests. 

_ I think I understand why Peter and Susan did not come back, _ Lucy had told him once, as they stood on the fine white sand at the end of the world.  _ There’s an awful lot to do in England. _

But he couldn’t see it.  _ There’s so much to do here, too. Wouldn’t you rather stay? _

_ Of course I would, but I’m not needed here anymore.  _ Her eyes had softened, and she’d looked past his shoulder to the distant ship where Caspian was waiting.  _ Not like you. _

It was times like these, alone by the fire, when he missed his siblings the most. So Edmund did what he always did in such a mood: he went to his desk and wrote them a letter. 

_ I wish you could meet the twins, _ he told them,  _ and see how happy Caspian is to spend time surrounded by family that loves him as much as he deserves.  _ And Edmund remembered the look of pure awe in Caspian’s eyes when he’d beheld the twins for the first time, and his heart warmed.

When Edmund finally retired to bed, he did not feel quite so wistful. And when he awoke, the Galmans had arrived and there was no more time for reminiscing, anyhow.

* * *

It was morning when the courier pigeon from Beaversdam arrived. She was flustered to the point of nonsense, babbling and bobbing as the satyrs removed the missive from her leg. It bore the seal of King Caspian, and was inked with a notation indicating its urgency. No time was wasted in delivering the missive to the king in residence. 

Edmund had been in the midst of a rather dull negotiation with the Galman diplomats. One of the staff entered the room to whisper to his guard; the guard padded forward to whisper to the king. The king gave a very polite yet vague apology before striding from the room to meet the pigeon in the hall. 

“From King Caspian, sire,” the pigeon chirped, holding aloft the rolled parchment. Edmund cracked the seal and read the note within. 

_ Emerald snake preying on Narnians in the Western Woods. Dark magic suspected. Hunt may be dangerous, bring cordial. Always love, C _

Edmund stood very still and very silent. And then, orders: “I need clothes and supplies for the road. And my horse readied. Is there parchment around? I need to send a response. Trumpkin, tell the Galmans something unavoidable has come up and we will resume discussions upon my return in a week’s time. Possibly longer, but tell them a week. Yes, I need to stop at the treasury--”

Before the hour was out, a fresh pigeon was winging his way back to Beaversdam, and Edmund was riding hard in pursuit.

* * *

The lady had been first sighted two days after Edmund’s departure from Beaversdam. She wore an unnatural green that stood out against the forest conifers, and her hair was like spun gold. Caspian had been sitting alone beneath the sycamore when he saw her at the forest’s edge. She was watching him and her mouth was crooked as though she’d been laughing. But when he stood up to greet her--somehow, although he could have sworn he did not look away--she vanished. 

Twice more did Caspian see her in the week that followed, always when he was alone and always gone before he could approach. At first, he thought she might be a traveller who’d lost her way, except she did not ask for aid nor directions. Then, he supposed she might have come from a neighbouring estate, but he knew of no humans who dwelled farther west than Beaversdam. He might have thought her a dryad, but her skin was not bark-roughened and her hair was too bright. 

At last, describing this over dinner, the Lady Mirwyn said, “She sounds to me like a witch.” 

There had been no witch in Narnia in over a thousand years, only the hags who practiced their hedge-magics in the darkest corners of the country. Trufflehunter had once told Caspian that the true witches always came from the North, up past Ettinsmoor and the giants, and they never boded well. 

But now, Tasius told of a witch who came to Archenland in the days of his grandmother. Bright as a gem, she’d been, and false as fool’s gold. When the king welcomed her into his court, she sowed chaos in her wake and turned all the nobles against each other. The king did not see this, for he was utterly enchanted by the woman though he already had a queen at his side. But the witch had eyes only for the North. 

At last, the king asked this witch what she most desired (thinking that he might give it to her) and the witch bid him make war upon Narnia, overthrow its Telmarine rulers, and deliver the throne unto her. But she’d overestimated her hold upon the king and underestimated the faith he still held in his queen’s counsel. The Archen queen was not swayed by the witch’s enchantment and told the king to send the witch away. And, to the surprise of all, the king did. 

But the witch had one last trick up her sleeve. Two days after she departed from the court, a great green snake came upon the king in his gardens and felled him with its poisoned bite. The snake was gone by the time the guards reached the king’s side, and neither the snake nor the witch were ever seen in Archenland again. 

“But some say the witch returned to the North,” Tasius finished, “and has remained there since, with her mind ever bent towards Narnia’s throne.” 

“And you think this might be that very same witch,” said Caspian. “If so, we shall have to be on our guard.” 

Two days later, the first of the slain Narnians was found within the woods: a fox kit, neck purpled and swollen from the poison of a snake’s bite. 

* * *

With a full retinue in tow, the trip to Beaversdam at summer’s end had taken seven days. For a small number travelling fast but easy, the distance could be crossed in two. Edmund rode at full haste, travelling through the night to finally arrive at Beaversdam the next evening. 

He was still too late. When he reached the estate, the lord and lady of the house were waiting for him and Caspian had already vanished into the wood in search of the lady and her snake.

* * *

The yellow beam of Edmund’s torch bounced through the thick forest as he dashed among the trees. Once, twice, he hollered his husband’s name in a ragged voice; the sound echoed through a wood that felt increasingly claustrophobic and all too empty. 

The light caught a flicker of motion. Edmund had his sword half-drawn from its sheath before he recognized the trailing golden hair and soft-white bark skin for an aspen dryad rather than the witch. “My king,” she said, raising her hand. He released the hilt, tightened his grip on the torch, and followed. 

He had been close; it did not long to reach the fallen king who lay between two roots of a massive oak. This tree’s dryad was an old, grizzled woman hunched at the king’s side, two large hands tending the shoulder wound. She looked up gravely at their approach and warned, “The poison is working fast.” 

Indeed, Caspian’s breaths had grown short and pained. This was not the time for hesitation. Edmund dropped to his knees, letting the torch fall from his hands in order to fumble at his belt for the little diamond bottle. “This was always Lucy’s province,” he said, maybe to the dryads or perhaps to the unconscious king. “I just pray it will work without her.” He tilted the bottle over Caspian’s mouth and two gleaming red drops rolled from its rim to disappear between parted lips.

He pulled back, replaced the stopper. Caspian’s face was pale and still. The forest held its breath. Edmund bit at his lip, remembering the taste of fire flowers and counting the seconds by his racing heart.  _ It’s not going to work, _ he realized, and the world began to stutter to a halt. 

And then a hand twitched beneath his. Caspian’s eyes flickered, his breaths deepened. And even by the pale torchlight, it was clear colour was returning to his face. There was just enough time for the horror of might-have-been to fade before he coughed and properly opened his eyes and said, “You look terrible.” 

“Speak for yourself,” retorted Edmund, his voice shaking with relief. “Caspian, damn you. Never do that to me again.” 

“Fight a magic snake?” 

“Fight a magic snake  _ without me. _ ” Edmund leaned back and raked his hands through his hair. “You were supposed to wait!” 

The forest pulled back, no longer so close and constricting. As Edmund tilted his head back, he saw the gleam of stars through the canopy. The oak laid her bark-rough hand upon his arm and said, “Well done, sire,” before withdrawing into her tree. The aspen was already gone. 

Caspian had already regained enough strength to sit upright. “You think I’d take on a giant magic snake without you on purpose?” 

“Yes.” He brought his attention to the king’s shoulder. The tunic’s fabric had been torn away from the wound--either by the oak or Caspian himself, as the snake’s teeth would have easily pierced the purple silk fabric--but the bite itself had already healed into two small puckered scars. “This was my favourite shirt,” he said, mournfully.

“I am well aware,” said Caspian. “That’s why I always wear it.” 

“I will be very distraught if it can’t be repaired.” 

“I know,” said Caspian. Their eyes met. And finally, Edmund leaned forward. 

There was desperation to this kiss, a hunger wrought from lingering fear. Caspian’s lips still carried the taste of the fire flowers, and it eased Edmund’s weariness. He pressed closer, slid his hand from Caspian’s bare shoulder down beneath the purple shirt. Caspian’s fingers clawed at his hair and gripped tight.

The trees politely looked away until they were finished.

For a time after, they simple sat nestled together between the oak’s roots. At last, Edmund sighed. “Let me guess,” he said, “You was right: the lady controls the snake.” 

Caspian grimaced. “Not quite. The lady  _ is _ the snake.” 

* * *

In the end, they found the lady in the deepest glades of the Western Wood. She stood serene, that same mocking smile on her face as they approached. Both kings drew their swords at the sight of her, approaching cautiously lest she vanish again. 

But instead, the lady called in a voice like music, “Well met, my kings!” 

They continued their approach. The lady watched with amusement. “Why do you draw your blades against me? Do you not know a friendly face when you see one?” 

“A friendly face you may have,” said Caspian, “but a viper lies beneath.” He began treading a wide arc to the left of the lady while Edmund prowled to the right. 

“Whatever you think of me,” said the lady, “You are mistaken, my sires. I have come to Narnia to aid you both.” She peered at them through hooded eyes, eyes flickering between the two of them as they circled her. “You know I have power, why should it not belong to you? Two great kings, the pair of you; but would a trio not make the thrones so much stronger?”

Edmund felt some of her power tickling at the edges of his consciousness, trying to draw his eye down from her face. It reminded him a little of the taste of rose water and powdered sugar and so, in recognizing it, he found it easy to instead look past the lady to Caspian. He raised an eyebrow, read Caspian’s own incredulous humour in his eyes, and told the witch, “My lady, you have vastly misjudged my attractions.” 

“Not so much mine own, generally speaking,” added Caspian thoughtfully, “Although you lost your chance when you turned into a snake to poison me.” 

“That was a mistake, sire,” protested the lady, not even bothering to deny the charge. “The wood was dark and you caught me unawares. Would not any lady be right to defend herself if she felt threatened?” 

This did not at all dignify a response. Caspian was beginning to bristle, but Edmund gave the slightest shake of his head:  _ Wait. _

“My lady,” he said, “It is our practice in Narnia that all who have done ill be given a fair trial before guilt is assigned and a just punishment devised. Come with us in peace, and you will be safely escorted to Paravel.” 

Her eyes flashed. “And if this trial should go poorly for me? What punishment would you find  _ just? _ ” 

For all the times he had seen to his responsibilities as the Just King of Narnia, both in this reign and in the Golden Age, it still rested heavy upon him. “We will not be unfair,” he told her, “But we do not dole out blind mercy.” 

Her voice turned sneering. “Would you have me rot in a cell, my king? Perhaps banish me from your lands to eke out a living in the squalor of the islands? Or would you deem a threat too dangerous to let live, and execute me in the main square of your precious Paravel?” 

“Careful,” Caspian warned her, lifting his sword higher. 

But Edmund knew better than to fall for her taunts. “I say again: come with us in peace, and we will give you a fair trial.” 

“Peace!” she spat. “Fair? I think not. I tire of the self-righteousness of kings; the time of the witch is at hand!” And even as she finished speaking, her body began to elongate and her arms twist into her sides. The emerald of her kirtle spread up over her skin, turning into the sickly green scales that formed the great snake’s armour. With a great hiss, the snake reared. 

As one, Edmund and Caspian leaped forward. Their swords flashed. 

And, quite unceremoniously, the lady was felled. 

* * *

After, Edmund looked down upon the witch’s corpse and told his husband, “You’d think witches would have learned better than to mess with me by now.” 

Scowling, Caspian wiped the snake’s blood from his blade before returning it to its sheath. “She was consumed by hate and greed until she could not longer see mercy when it stood in front of her.” 

Edmund was silent for a time. He mirrored his husband’s actions, returning his blade to its place at his side before at last saying, “I think it must be a very lonely life, to be a witch.” 

“Lonely indeed,” agreed Caspian. He let his arm fall over Edmund’s shoulder. “A good thing neither of us have any interest in pursuing a career in witchery. Now let’s get back to Beaversdam. I need a good hot soak and a strong drink. And maybe I’ll stay with my cousin a week longer, to properly recover from the excitement.” 

“Caspian,” said Edmund, “There’s no way I’m letting you out of my sight for a long while after this, and there’s a whole trade delegation waiting for my return to Paravel. Come haggle with the Galmans, it will make you feel better.” 

“Dear, haggling makes  _ you _ feel better.” 

Edmund revised his pitch. “Come with me as I haggle with the Galmans to feel better, then.” 

Happily bickering, they started off through the trees. Beaversdam was ahead, with its promise of strong drinks and hot baths and a caring family. Beyond that, a road that led through a country at peace, over hills and across rivers, all the way to the city of Paravel on the Eastern Shore. There were trade delegations to satiate, and purple shirts to mend, and plenty of other missives to send and receive. There was an awful lot to do. 

**Author's Note:**

> I swear, it only occurred to me long after I named one of the twins after Caspian that Castor literally... means... beaver...

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [blazing in gold and quenching in purple (the I'm too sexy for my shirt remix)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26674963) by [rthstewart](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rthstewart/pseuds/rthstewart)




End file.
